


Drink

by verushka70



Category: Forever Knight
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Sire/Progeny Sexual Interaction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-10-16
Updated: 1999-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-18 05:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4693358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verushka70/pseuds/verushka70
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You had best not do that, Nicholas, unless you are willing to suffer the consequences," LaCroix's voice quietly asserted. But, surprisingly, there was no sarcasm, no arrogance, no insulting condescension. It was almost... affectionate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drink

  
  
  
  


He waited, once more. The night... like any other night. Like thousands of nights he'd waited in the predawn.

But tonight, he felt that Nicholas would come.

Perhaps he ought to just go on into the dark basement. The fledglings would be getting ready for bed. Or bed time activities. As he himself anticipated.

He found himself mildly amused at the thought that perhaps tonight, unlike every other night the young ones spent here, they might hear their elder in more bestial form than they'd ever before heard.

No matter. He heard them often enough. An iron control like his could hardly be disturbed. And yet, at times when he felt lazy and let slip the barrier between himself and the world's cacophony... it almost quickened his lust. Urs, especially, uttered the most sublime sounds of arousal and release. Should he decide one of these days that he wanted to watch, he was certain she and Vachon would not refuse. They dared not.

But he rarely found any lovers' trysts voyeuristically worthwhile, vampire or otherwise. Practice -- thousands of years of living -- had taught him that, yes, it was quite possible to be jaded. Rather like a drug, voyeurism or any other debauchery became an exercise in diminishing returns. Though there were no limits -- and, after all, there was more and more disposable flesh around him every day on this planet -- it did get boring. Even shredding human throats at the moment they burst forth with orgasmic moans became boring, after a few dozen or so.

And... he hardly let himself think the thought... it was the same with Nicholas. For years -- centuries -- he'd had Nicholas, to take his pleasure from, to pleasure as he saw fit, to watch en flagrante with Janette. Yet he couldn't remember wanting Nicholas' presence as much then as he sometimes did now. It must be the rarity of the occasion that made the wine, so to speak, that much sweeter.

He heard the footstep outside the door, and stirred from his seat at the empty bar. He'd drained this glass of human vintage some time ago. As he turned, the door opened and Nicholas slipped into the Raven. He let the door fall shut behind him.

"LaCroix." His son, looking tired and hungry. The hair mussed slightly from the flight here. Or perhaps from his lamentable work among the mortals. No matter. Nicholas' eyes were less wary these days. Less distrustful. It was tempting to do something to bring that distrust back to his gaze -- it was so much fun to keep him guessing -- but LaCroix could afford to be generous.

And, besides, their lovely Janette was no longer with them. And Nicholas was the worse for it. When Janette had been here, LaCroix had considered it his perfect right to be as difficult as necessary with Nicholas. But, now, with one third of the family gone until they should meet up again some time hence, he reluctantly admitted that he had some sort of responsibility. Oh, yes, of course, there were so many immortals who considered it beneath them to bother with much more than the basic instruction for their fledglings -- not to mention those who left unintentional fledglings in their irresponsible wake.

But, as with things sexual and debauched, the pleasures and freedoms of immortality must sometimes be tempered with practicality. Of course, it had taken several centuries to learn this... but he knew it by the time he'd created Nicholas. If he'd skipped certain lessons... it was only to bind his progeny closer to him. And, by this time, there was little Nicholas didn't know. In his tiresome and illogical search for a way back to mortality, he had exhausted almost all sources of knowledge on the subject of immortal vampirism.

"Nicholas, would you care for some... ? But, no, of course not. I shouldn't even have asked," he intoned, watching Nicholas' eyes track the bottle as he poured more blood wine into his glass. "This is human vintage... you wouldn't want that."

"I am... hungry. But, no." His son moved closer, and then sat beside him at the bar. He hung his head, tired.

His sire reached out a hand tentatively, and settled it on his son's shoulder. To his surprise and hidden satisfaction, there was no immediate shrugging it off, or tensing of the body beneath. Perhaps Nicholas was just weary... or perhaps LaCroix had lulled his natural suspicion again. He squeezed Nicholas' shoulder gently.

"Don't tell me... another exhausting night serving and protecting the mortals, yes?" But his tone was rather less mocking than it had been in the past. It was something Nicholas would learn, in time. Time might heal all wounds, but it was also the great teacher. When there was nothing left... when his son's life among the mortals was crumbling, if not outright destroyed by some folly... he'd not have to say anything. Nicholas would know it.

And, nothing would be served by rubbing salt in the wounds... except perhaps a little malicious pleasure and schadenfreude. But even that, LaCroix had only recently concluded, was unnecessary with Nicholas, though it was sometimes impossible to suppress his own amusement. The boy's temperament was such that he always took these lessons much harder than virtually any other vampire LaCroix had known who had lived this long. Nicholas' hope always returned eventually. Unfortunately for his poor son, his inability to recognize his folly for what it was also returned... resulting in Nicholas having to learn some lessons again and again. But... that was the way of life. Challenges not met and triumphed over would be met again. And again and again... until they were bested.

"No, well, yes, I suppose so..." Nicholas trailed off. "I'm..." He stopped.

_Tired of trying? Tired of seeking the mortal cure? Tired of pretending to be something you are not? Tired of fighting your own nature?_ LaCroix thought all of these thoughts at once, but he did not say them; and Nicholas did not hear them.

"Yes, well, it is rather late to return to your loft, is it not?" was what the elder vampire said instead.

"I... yes, I suppose it is. I didn't really want to come here, but... not because of you. Because... well, it's... it's all immortals here."

"But this is your society, Nicholas." At the tightening of his blond son's face, LaCroix soothed, "At least, your society of origin. Sometimes... it is good to be among one's own kind."

"Yes. Something like that."

"Are you sure," LaCroix breathed silkily, drawing nearer the golden head of his son, "that you aren't still hungry? Or at least a bit... thirsty?" He sipped the last drops of human vintage from his glass.

"I... I suppose... I didn't drink as much cow blood as I normally would have tonight."

"You know, you needn't drink human vintage to slake your thirst, Nicholas," LaCroix murmured, drawing back from Nicholas. He poured a bit more from the bottle into his glass, knowing that the finest particles of moisture, of scent -- of, if present day science were to be believed, subatomic particles freed in the process of pouring -- would tantalize Nicholas's terribly starved senses.

He sensed, rather than saw, Nicholas slowly raise his head to stare at him. When he turned, he saw the telltale flecks of gold in his son's eyes. The boy seemed tight as a bowstring.

"What did you mean by that?" Nicholas' voice trembled.

So delightful, this game. This, as they used to say, "pussyfooting" around. In some ways, it was much more rewarding than an all out assault, conquest, and Nicholas' resentful surrender. This "flirting" as they called it today. Except flirting was less what it was about than seduction. True, to simply take and subjugate what one wanted  was... satisfying. But to entice them into coming of their own free will... now that was a skill, and one worth honing. You catch more flies with honey, as they said...

"I meant only that... you have my blood in you already. What harm can a bit more do?" LaCroix lifted an eyebrow and sipped delicately from his glass.

"You know-- you know it will only make me stronger." Nicholas' brow knit suspiciously. And yet LaCroix was certain his fangs had begun to drop. He could almost hear them. Inwardly, he smiled. It was working.

"You're quite strong already, you know. A great deal stronger than the vast majority of vampires," his father pointed out. "You have been well beyond the few 'cures' that your Dr. Lambert has been able to come up with."

"Yes... It is true."

"And then, you don't quite faithfully adhere to the regimen she advises..." LaCroix added, draining his cup. He felt Nicholas' sharp turn of head again. But he had delivered this sentence, at least, with plain honesty. No sarcasm or subtle condescension was necessary. It was simply the truth. The blood called... it made demands... you satisfied them. End of story. Or you didn't satisfy them, and you suffered agony -- as Nicholas often did -- until you _did_ satisfy them.

"You're trying to convince me. To stay. To... drink from you." Nicholas angrily tossed his head in the opposite direction.

"My dear Nicholas, you must stay, since you can not go home now. It is light out. However, you may sleep wherever you wish. I can not compel you to sleep with me." _I could_ , LaCroix thought to himself; _but I won't. It will be much more satisfying if you come to me on your own_. "Besides... it might be quite tiresome sleeping with you. You're too light a sleeper with your underfeeding. It disturbs me."

_Yes. Deflect him. Let him think that you don't want it. He'll find it much less objectionable if he thinks you are not deriving much pleasure from it. By the time he realizes you are, it will be too late... and he will not be sorry. At least, not until he wakes tomorrow..._

LaCroix very deliberately stood from his seat at the bar, and took the wine glass and empty bottle and brought them behind the bar. The glass went into the sink for one of the fledglings to wash; the bottle crashed into the garbage on top of other broken glass.

He did not look up until he had wiped his hands clean from a relatively dry hand towel. And when he did, he was almost chagrined at the look on Nicholas' face.

Yes, that lost-little-boy look. He supposed it had been that look -- and the opposite look of wonder and excitement -- that had so entranced him when he'd first seen Nicholas. Something about those two extremes of expression on the youthful face of a strapping young knight had stirred emotion in him like none had before. Janette, lovely as she was, and satisfying as her training had been, was cut from the same cloth he himself was. Nicholas was not. This had both advantages and disadvantages... but one of the advantages was that Nicholas' innocence was perennially renewed... and therefore the opportunity to seduce and corrupt it returned again and again.

Yet sometimes -- and LaCroix felt himself dangerously close to that now -- he didn't actually want to seduce and corrupt it. Paradoxically, he sometimes wanted to nurture and cherish it. He himself had no recollection of such innocence in himself, in his own life. By the time Divia had made him immortal... his own innocence had been so long dead, it had taken her complete depravity to awaken feelings of disgust in him. From a certain perspective, even that seemed provincial to him, at times.

"Come, Nicholas," LaCroix began, sotto voce, and reached across the bar to grasp his son's forearm. "It can not be that bad."

"How can you know?" his son looked down. "You have no idea."

"Probably you're right. But. Each day dawns anew, yes?" He had not yet released his gentle grip on Nicholas' arm...

"Each day dawns anew, but we are still the same! Doesn't it bother you?" Nicholas had not made any move to repel LaCroix's grip.

"It doesn't bother me because I do not see my immortality as unnatural. Is it unnatural that mountains stay the same for millennia? Is it unnatural that the stars stay the same for millennia? No. These things are perfectly natural. They have their place. So do I. And so do you."

"I wish I could believe that." Nicholas closed his eyes and sighed.

"You could, if you would not fight believing it so much," LaCroix said, sharper than he'd intended.

"Yes, but, I must--"

"Oh, Nicholas. Don't let's play this 'yes, but' game, all right? It is tiresome. You will believe what you choose to believe. It is rather disingenuous of you to seek what little comfort my advice may provide, only to reject it because it isn't what you want to hear. If that is the case... why do you come to me?"

"Because you're... you're..."

"I suppose because I'm all you have left, except for your mortal friends." Neither of them mentioned Janette, but her absence hung in the air between them.

_Well_ , LaCroix thought, _she's not here to bridge this gap anymore_. Rather crossly, he realized that this was deteriorating into another of Nicholas' boring self-pity sessions. He released his son's forearm and stepped back.

Nicholas looked up, confused and slightly upset. "Well? Aren't you going to ask me?"

"Ask you what? If you want some wine? If you want some blood? If you want to come to my bed with me? No, Nicholas, I'm not going to ask you. I would have asked you, only now you've gone ahead and made this a maudlin exchange of sentimental drivel that I cannot abide. You either want the creature comforts of which we can partake, or you don't. Nothing I say is going to make any difference," LaCroix softened his voice at the last sentence. "Is it?"

Nicholas hung his head again. "No. I suppose not."

"No. It isn't," his master replied. "And, if I did ask you, after all this, you'd probably be offended. So you see, you leave me little choice," he again softened his tone. "I can only ease your pain in certain ways, and only if you'll let me. But you won't." He paused. "I sometimes think you prefer the pain."

"I don't!"

"Well, even if you did, it wouldn't be any fun easing your pain or inflicting more. You acquiesce to it all too easily, you know." LaCroix sighed. Well, there'd be no exchanging of blood tonight, he could see that now. Irritated, he walked back out from behind the bar to where he had been sitting.

Nicholas, his fangs by now drawn back up, looked at him. LaCroix raised an eyebrow and pushed in his bar stool. Then he tilted his head in a slightly mocking good-night nod, and went on his way to his bedchamber.

"Please turn out the lights when you go to bed, Nicholas. Except for the one out back."

"Lucien--"

The ancient Roman general stopped, his back to Nicholas, but he did not turn around.

"What is it now, Nicholas." He paused, wondering how anyone could live in such continual angst.

The words came from directly behind him. "I'll come down with you," Nicholas said quietly, humbly.

His master turned slightly, eyeing his son from the corner of his eye. "Come, then," he said simply, lamenting Nicholas' sensitive temperament.

He was already removing his cuff-links and collar pin as they went downstairs, and unbuttoning his high collared shirt.

In LaCroix's bedroom deep within the Raven, Nicholas watched dispassionately as LaCroix threw his shirt on a chair and set the cufflinks and collar pin on the dresser. The ancient vampire swiftly unbuttoned and unzipped his black trousers, stepped out of them, and let them drop to the floor. He looked, as he had for millennia, not a day over forty. He passed a hand over his face, over his eyes, and then looked disinterestedly in Nicholas' direction as he sat down on the black sheeted bed and slipped between the sheets. He rolled over onto his side, facing away from Nicholas.

"Turn out the light before you get into bed, would you?" he asked, his voice muffled by being turned away.

Nicholas felt himself stirring, unwillingly, in the presence of LaCroix's nakedness. And yet, there was nothing even vaguely sexual about it. He took his long coat off and threw it on the chair, and slowly stripped. While taking off his clothes, he looked around the room to see if there were a dressing gown, or silk pajamas, anything so as not to be naked next to his naked immortal father. But he could see nothing obvious and didn't want to risk LaCroix's irritation by going through his drawers.

He turned out the light and slipped into the bed beside LaCroix. It was utterly dark in the room.

His sire made no move toward him.

Nick heard the one throb LaCroix's cold, dead heart was likely to make for the next few hours.

He didn't even want to -- and yet he reached out to put his hand on the broad shoulders beside him. But before he could touch LaCroix, his master spoke up.

"You had best not do that, Nicholas, unless you are willing to suffer the consequences," LaCroix's voice quietly asserted. But, surprisingly, there was no sarcasm, no arrogance, no insulting condescension. It was almost... affectionate.

_I'm getting soft in my old age_ , LaCroix thought smiling to himself.

Nicholas felt his own arousal, smelled the deep, dark scent of his master, his master's blood. The slight burning inside that he was used to feeling almost all the time had become almost unbearably itchy. It longed to be filled and soothed.

"I'm... I'm willing," Nicholas whispered, settling his hand on the cool, pale shoulder. It stirred under his and LaCroix rolled over, onto his back.

He opened his arms and Nicholas let himself be drawn in.

"Drink," LaCroix whispered, offering Nicholas his wrist.

"No-- let me--" And he leaned upward, nudging LaCroix's head to the side. There, in his neck, the biggest artery... the fastest and most satisfying drinking.

LaCroix shrugged under him. "As you wish..."

And his son bit him fiercely there, but soon was fairly whimpering with the pleasure and relief of suckling his master's blood. Straight from the source, undiluted. Nicholas moaned, his vision a red miasma. His tumescence hardened into full erection.

LaCroix fought the arousal, but only half-heartedly. He had, after all, wanted this, at least until Nicholas began dragging them both through the muck of his indecisiveness and ambivalence. But now that indecisive mouth was at LaCroix's neck, and half-mad with the first taste of his master's blood... Ah. This was the most unfettered Nicholas ever was -- even counting mortal feeding. Nicholas' feeding frenzies on his master barely dented the font of LaCroix's dark, thick blood.

He twisted under his son's lighter, shorter body, and brought Nicholas fully onto him. Their cocks ground together. LaCroix marveled, as he always had, at the silky, tender flesh of Nicholas' pelvis and thighs and belly. He held the boy by the hips and thrust up at him with a strength that would have injured a mortal.

Nicholas was slowly becoming sated... and more inflamed. Full arousal had been instantaneous as his veins filled with his master's blood. Now, he suckled out of sheer sensual pleasure, feeling the thick threads of fluid coming slowly through the holes his fangs had made. He felt LaCroix's hardness and his own, felt them rub together. It was excruciatingly pleasurable.

A dim part of his brain reminded him that just about anything would be pleasurable, at this moment... but he was powerless to resist LaCroix now, and they both knew it. That dim part of his brain idly wondered how harshly and violently he'd be abused tonight, how long the scratches and scrapes would stay before inevitably healing themselves.

He could hardly wait.

And with that, he was suddenly wrenched away from his master's throat, and LaCroix was rolling over on him. Now LaCroix's hunger had been aroused by Nicholas' feeding, and he would take some of his own blood back... filtered through Nicholas.

This could go on for hours.

And often had.

Nicholas lay quietly under LaCroix, as the older vampire held him down and bit him everywhere. Little drinks from all over, rather than one big drink from his neck or wrist.  First, in the crook of his left elbow... and then the right.  The left wrist and then the right. LaCroix laughed seductively and thrust first one leg up for a drink from behind the knee, and then the other.

"Ah, Nicholas," he said thickly, from around the threads of coagulating blood, "You are never finer than you are at these moments." And with that, he brought both legs down and then brushed Nick's swollen cock with his cheek as he drank first from the left femoral artery, and then the right.

And then Nick fairly screamed with both agony and ecstasy as LaCroix engulfed his entire organ in one swallow, and bit him at the root of it, sinking each fang separately, with the excruciating attention to detail Nick had come to expect.

His master continued to roughly fellate him. He paused only to puncture him again and again around the base of his cock, every time the four holes closed up. It was agonizing. It was euphoric. Nicholas writhed with the pleasure and sensory overload. He vaguely realized he was moaning gutturally, as a lion roars... that the young ones must be hearing them... that he didn't care.

And soon, not only was LaCroix bringing him to the brink of release with his mouth, but he was also being penetrated by his master's hand. First one finger, then two, then three. Nicholas knew what usually came next, though LaCroix wasn't always so predictable.

Suddenly, LaCroix stopped everything he was doing. The sudden cessation of pleasure was in itself an excruciating vacuum, into which rushed every little touch, stroke, caress. In the wake of such violent caresses, Nicholas dimly wondered how his used and abused organs and senses could even feel the small sensations.

But LaCroix knew that the harshest caresses yielded the most aroused state, from which the orgasm could be approached -- and retreated from -- with feathery touches, light caresses, and sudden rough strokes.

Now he held Nicholas' hands over his head, with one vise-like hand. He teased his immortal son, wrenching moans and sighs from Nicholas, until the near-mortal vampire was reduced to struggling to reach his own genitals and end the prolonged arousal. But LaCroix held him fast, and would not free his wrists... while he stroked Nicholas' weeping cock, never the same stroke more than twice in a row, never the same intensity of caress more than a few seconds in a row... keeping his son just this side of blissful oblivion. The younger vampire moaned and whimpered under his master's combined oral and manual caresses.

He was soon incoherently begging.

"Nicholas! Yes, my son, do beg and plead for your pleasure and release. It is so rare these many past years, and thus all the more satisfying to listen to," LaCroix whispered. He knew Nicholas barely heard or understood what he said, lost as he was in the sensual torture his master inflicted.

"Lucien... please... I beg you... please..." Nicholas moaned and twitched delightfully.

"Oh, no, my dear boy... I'll do it when I want to do it, and no sooner... and you will enjoy the tenterhooks until then..."

But, if LaCroix were honest with himself, he was less interested in Nicholas' pleasure and pain than in his own. He released his son's wrists, but then fell upon Nicholas' mouth.

The violent kisses drew blood in Nicholas' mouth. LaCroix tasted it in his son's mouth, licked and sucked it off Nicholas' tongue. The little scrapes healed, and then LaCroix raked Nick's tongue with his fangs again, licking at the little drips coming from the corners of Nick's mouth.

The former knight bucked under his sire, thrusting his erection up against his father's, hoping for release this way; but it would not come. LaCroix settled himself heavily on Nicholas, and thrust his own member against his son's pelvis, against his navel, against his belly. He smiled to himself at the pleasurable friction.

Then, he abruptly sat up on his haunches, between Nicholas' legs. And he did not move for several moments.

The younger vampire moaned, feeling the blood in his body slowly retreat from the surface of his skin, drawing back into the depths of his flesh. He writhed just slightly, trying to preserve his level of sensual arousal.

"Nicholasssss....." LaCroix whispered. He waited as long as he thought it would take for Nicholas to begin to lose his heat, his hardness, stroking himself, maintaining his own erection.

And then, without warning, LaCroix pushed Nick's knees back, almost to his armpits, and thrust violently into his son's backside.

Nicholas half-moaned, half-screamed, and the blood returned to every inch of the surface of his skin. His cock, previously softening and cooling, quickly lengthened, thickened, and hardened. LaCroix felt the heat coming off of it, under his belly.

"Oh, yes, yes, my dear, sweet Nicholas," LaCroix murmured, slowly withdrawing. When he was almost all the way out, he thrust back in, as slowly as possible.

"Lucien..." Nicholas moaned. "Please... dear God... please..."

"Your dear God doesn't approve of these acts, Nicholas," LaCroix whispered through clenched teeth as he slowly withdrew from Nicholas again. "No matter... he can not stop us, either..."

"Yes..."

"Nicholas..." LaCroix thrust back into his son, hard.

"Yes..."

"Stroke yourself. It won't be long now..." LaCroix promised with a throaty gasp. He slowly increased his pace, and the depth of his thrusting. He swore he was hitting a bone somewhere inside Nicholas, some point at which he could thrust in no farther... no matter. The internal injuries would heal as well as the external ones. He changed his thrusts to more shallow penetration... and increased the speed again.

Soon he was panting and gripping his son's hips tightly enough to bruise. But it was necessary for the full force of each abbreviated stroke into Nicholas' beautiful ass.

Nicholas moaned deliriously under him, barely capable of masturbating himself while LaCroix pounded into him.

The ancient vampire felt his blood retreat into the depths of his body, in preparation for the bloody orgasm that was to come. He inhaled sharply, cresting over the edge, gasping only one word:

"Nicholas..."

The orgasm overtook him and he hammered into Nicholas ever more slowly with each jet of fluid. His climax spurred his son, who furiously stroked himself until the bloody ejaculate spattered between them and he cried aloud, a prolonged and bestial moan.

Spent, LaCroix withdrew and collapsed onto his shuddering Nicholas, whose hand still softly milked his cock. After catching his breath, LaCroix held himself up from Nicholas' body, and lapped up Nicholas' congealing ejaculate. He removed Nicholas' hand from his cock, licked all the blood from Nick's hand, and from his cock, and from the creases where his thighs met his pelvis, from his navel... LaCroix could sense each drop, no matter how tiny, by scent. He found every last one.

The rough licking almost aroused Nick again. But he was too sleepy... and too hungry...

"Lucien..." he whispered, not opening his eyes.

"I know. You're hungry," came his master's gruffly cool voice.

"Yes."

"Just a moment."

Nicholas felt the bed spring up where LaCroix's body had been. He thought his father would leave the room, but LaCroix only opened his armoire. In the bottom, he had several bottles of blood wine. Nicholas listened as LaCroix returned to the dresser, opened a drawer, presumably found a corkscrew, and opened the bottle of wine.

The ancient vampire drank half the bottle before sitting down on the bed next to Nicholas.

"Here."

"I'd rather..."

"Rather what?" LaCroix said, perturbed. "Oh, of course. You don't want this human vintage..."

"No, it isn't that."

"Then what?"

"I'd rather... drink from you again," came the halting confession.

LaCroix inhaled sharply, exultant. _My Nicholas... I've made you mine again, even if it doesn't last. You can't stay away for good. You'll keep coming back... for this, which you can get nowhere else..._ He felt his throat tighten with a dark pleasure and emotion.

But he said nothing, knowing all too well the delicacy of Nicholas' post-blood-sharing state, his ambivalence... his guilt. He set the wine bottle on the dresser.

The older vampire gently moved his son aside so there was room for him to lie next to him. Then he lay down next to Nicholas, drew the sheet over them, and opened his arms. He resisted the urge to crush Nicholas to him, and simply let the younger vampire rest his golden head on his chest. He offered Nicholas his wrist.

"Drink."

And this time, Nicholas took the wrist. He could barely think. He was exhausted. But every inch of his body felt... soothed and relieved. Even more so as he slowly drank from LaCroix's wrist.

The ancient let his son drink himself to sleep, knowing that tonight the younger vampire would sleep deeply.

When he was sure his son was completely unconscious to the world, he slowly crushed Nicholas to him with python-like strength.

He released the younger immortal reluctantly. He gently rolled Nicholas onto his side, and then curled up against him. He knew Nicholas would shake him off and leave all too soon, at sundown, regretting spending the day with him, regretting his acquiescence, his supposedly "weak" will, feeling guilt for what he had freely reveled in tonight. He pressed himself against his son's backside, against the heavy weight of his slumbering Nicholas, and lay awake in the dark for some time, thinking.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Written so long ago and so many computers and sites ago, I no longer have notes on who beta-ed (but it _was_ beta-ed, I promise). It may have even been originally posted under my Surfgirl pseud; I can't remember. 
> 
> Whoever beta-ed all those years ago -- many thanks, vielen dank, muchas gracias. 
> 
> All remaining mistakes are mine, including the not entirely successful third person omniscient perspective.


End file.
